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  Worth a Thousand Words 
 by lilyleia78	

 Wilson stood in front of House's bookcase, considering it with a
practiced eye. Somewhere in this apartment there were three of his McGill
yearbooks, and Wilson refused to leave without them. The how and why of
House's theft would require further inquiry at a later date. Today the
important thing was to reclaim his property. 

He'd almost dismissed the bookshelf as too obvious, but then a parody of
`The Princess Bride' started in his head: He knows I'll look here first,
so surely he wouldn't leave them here. But he knows I know he knows I'll
look here first... Wilson shifted a pile of medical journals and
discovered, not a stack of college memories, but a 4 x 6 mystery.

"What's this?" He waved the faded photograph in the general direction of
the piano.

"That. Is. A. Picture," House said slowly, as if speaking to a mental
patient.

"Really? I thought you were stealing souls again," Wilson put his free
hand on his hip; the left continued to hold the picture aloft. 

House rolled his eyes before relenting. "It's a picture of my best friend
from when we were stationed Florida."

Wilson frowned in concentration, "That's over 30 years ago. You still have
it?" He flipped over the photo to study the girl in the snapshot with
renewed interest. 

House shrugged. "I knew her for a long time. It seemed impolite to throw
it away."

"Yes, I know how you like to avoid being rude." Wilson answered. He
considered the girl for a few moments longer. Her face was scrunched up in
amused exasperation, no doubt at something young Greg was saying or doing
out of frame. Wilson knew that expression very well. "Tell me about her."

"Wilson," House groaned. "This is not show-and-tell time."

"Come on, you must have some story concocted. What's it gonna be - an
insult to deflect the emotional significance? Or a grudgingly given
backhanded compliment?" Wilson waited, but House's only response was to
play a soft chord. Wilson cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "She
really was a good friend. What happened?"

House was obviously considering ignoring his best friend, but the weight
of Wilson's stare forced him to answer.

"Nothing happened. Dad got stationed to Japan. We lost touch; we were only
twelve after all." 

Wilson sat back on the couch, still looking at the picture and said
nothing. House absentmindedly played a slow bluesy tune. When he spoke
into the silence, Wilson was riveted by tone of his voice, meshing with
the low background music. 

"I snuck out of a meet-the-neighbors party my parents were hosting, trying
to avoid playing nice with all the officer's wives by hiding out in the
park. Out of nowhere, a water balloon dropped from the sky and landed on
my head."

Wilson could see the image of young House, water and bits of latex rolling
down his face, slowly craning his neck up in bewilderment. He couldn't
prevent a soft chortle from slipping out.

House grinned in response. "Well that's how it seemed, but it was actually
thrown of a tree. I looked up and this little slip of a girl clambers down
like a monkey, sticks her hand out for a handshake, and says `Hi, I'm
Katie.' As if instigating a one-sided water balloon fight is a perfectly
acceptable way to introduce yourself."

"I imagine it is in the world of Greg House," Wilson noted.

House's eyes were obviously seeing some other time as he nodded. He told
stories of skipping school, long sunny afternoons on the beach, and of
sneaking away at night to sleep under his best friend's bed. He talked for
the better part of an hour, never looking up from the melody he was softly
playing.

When he wound down, Wilson smiled from his friend to the photo. "Why don't
you frame it? Put it up somewhere."

"Because then all of my nosey guests will want to know who it is and why I
keep it," House said pointedly.

"I already know why you keep it."

House did look at him then, very briefly. "Because of my inherent sense of
politeness?"

"She meant - means - something to you," Wilson began. House groaned and
dropped his head onto the piano. Wilson ignored him, warming to his topic.
"She helped to shape your life. You still care about her, and you keep the
photo to remember her and the person you were when you were with her."

"Thank you Dr. Wilson, PsyD," House grumbled with a disgusted shake of his
head. "Did you go to school for 13 years to learn that people keep
pictures of the things they love?"

"Love?" Wilson latched onto the word.

"Wilson!" House barked warningly. Wilson sent House a smug smile, but
decided to let it go. They both knew he'd scored a victory with the
admission, and that was enough for now.

Wilson sat in silence for several minutes, listening as House switched
tunes to tinker with a song he'd been composing for almost the entire time
Wilson had known him. Wilson secretly loved it when House pulled this
particular tune out of his repertoire; it was his favorite. When the music
petered out, House glared at him, the expression a complete contrast to
the sweet, longing quality of the melody he'd been playing. "Go ahead and
ask. I know you're dying to know."

Wilson gave him a sheepish look before asking, "Do you have a picture of
me stashed somewhere?"

"Yes, but I keep it in the fun drawer under my playboys."

"Rrrriiight," Wilson stretched the word out to be sure his disbelief was
obvious.

"You think I made you buy me that expensive high resolution digital camera
for pictures of nature? It's great for catching candid moments of naked
friends leaving the showers."

In case he was joking Wilson rolled his eyes. "So glad I could contribute
to my own sexual harassment." In case House was serious he added, "I bet
the picture would be better if I posed for it." Wilson keep his words free
of inflection so that House could interpret the statement anyway he chose.

House looked up and let his gaze map out every inch of Wilson before he
reached into his backpack for the camera. Wilson shifted so that he was
wedged into the corner of the couch and stretched an arm over the back.
Afraid that he would look ridiculous, he immediately pulled his arm down
and put his hands in his lap. Too much like a naughty school kid, he
decided. He shifted forward to stand. House stopped him with a gruff,
"Stay still," followed by, "Say anal probe."

Wilson laughed out loud more from surprise than because it was funny.
House pressed the shutter and Wilson stood to look at the photo over
House's shoulder. It was a nice shot. Wilson's face was splint with the
beginnings of laughter; his eyes crinkled attractively, hair perfectly in
place despite the long day.

"Not bad," House decided. "It's fit for my mantle."

"Oh, your mantle. Does that mean you're going to claim me to any visitors
that accidentally wander into you lair?"

House shrugged. "I'll tell them you're my favorite prostitute."

Wilson shook his head but made no attempt to hide his smile. He started
back to his place on the couch, but House stopped him with a request.
"Would you go check the hall closet for a frame? I want it ready after I
photoshop your head onto Cuddy's body."

Ignoring the second part of that statement, Wilson changed directions. He
found a box marked `Photos' on the top shelf and, sensing a likely spot
for a frame, pulled it down.

There were no picture frames inside but three cheap photo albums instead,
the kind with sticky backing and clear plastic that was supposed to be bad
for your photographs. House's statement about keeping pictures of things
he loved still in his head, Wilson couldn't stop himself from taking a
look.

The first one he opened was full of pictures of Blythe. After checking
that House was still involved with his piano, Wilson quickly scanned the
pages. Before his eyes Blythe matured from a young mother with a tiny blue
bundle in her arms to the handsome woman on Wilson's own arm in the final
photo, taken on her last visit.

The second one was also more or less expected. It was mostly shots of
Stacy, both alone and with House, several of all three of them, and a
smattering of other people they both knew. Toward the back there were a
few candids of Cuddy, although none appeared to have been taken in the
showers. Wilson was amused to note a single photo of Foreman, Cameron and
Chase huddled around the whiteboard. He'd have to remember to tease House
about that one later.

Wilson's grin faded to amazement when he opened the last album. Wilson was
staring at a much younger version of himself, immortalized forever in a
Polaroid with an expression of bewilderment frozen on his face.

"House, what are you doing? I have a patient!" Wilson squinted at the
sudden flash of the camera. 

"Sorry, hospital rules. I have to take a photo of all the hot new doctors
for the Dean of Medicine. She has to get her masturbatory materials
somewhere."

Wilson blushed, years away from building up a resistance to House's brand
of teasing. "House..." he began, but the other doctor was already gone. 

The cessation of music pulled Wilson from the memory, and he continued to
flip through the album as House began plucking at his guitar instead.
Younger Wilsons stared back at him from every page. Occasionally there was
a hand, an arm, a hint of long hair to indicate that Wilson wasn't alone,
but there was never anyone else in frame, unless it was House himself. 

The last photo in the album was from his wedding to Bonnie. Again, only
Wilson and his best man were in the picture, but Wilson could identify
which wedding it was by House's unguarded smile, aimed at him instead of
the camera.

"Come on, House. The Best Man has to be in the wedding pictures," Wilson
begged, desperate to prevent another fight between his best friend and his
new bride.

"Just because you want to tie yourself to these people forever," House's
tone told Wilson in no uncertain terms how long he expected that to last,
"doesn't mean I want to be associated with them via still life."

"House," Wilson rubbed the back of his neck wearily. Something flashed in
House's eyes at the gesture, gone too fast to be identified. He tugged
Wilson's arm away from his neck and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Fine, you big baby. But just one, with just you."

"Fine," Wilson agreed eagerly, sure Bonnie wouldn't be disappointed to be
missing House from the majority of her wedding album.

"And you tell me where you're taking your honeymoon," House added smugly.

Wilson's look was a mixture of irritation and regret. "I can't. I promised
her two weeks of no hospital, no House."

"I won't call. I just want to know where you'll be so I can send sunshiny
happy thoughts your way."

"And by sunshiny, happy thoughts you mean fake bomb threats."

"One time! I only did that once!" House exclaimed indignantly.

"Yeah, well it's hard to forget being pulled out of a hotel because
someone has called in a bomb threat against you specifically. My first
wife was not very happy, and I doubt the second one would like it either."

"Number one had no sense of humor," House griped.

"Yes, that's why I divorced her. I couldn't have someone around who didn't
amuse you at all times," Wilson deadpanned.

House grinned and the photographer snapped the picture. House gaped from
the cameraman back to Wilson. "You little sneak, you set me up!"

"What?" Wilson blinked innocently at him. "I had no idea that was gonna
happen."

"Of course not," House snorted. "Go ahead; enjoy your
hospital-and-House-free honeymoon. I'll just hang out with Stacy; maybe
play a few rounds of golf."

"I'm sure you'll manage fine without me," Wilson grinned.

"Or not," Wilson whispered, pushing back the memory of that particular
homecoming. He checked the box again for more photo albums and smiled when
he found his missing yearbooks instead.

"The new album's in the bookcase." House's voice made Wilson jump and drop
the book he'd been holding. 

"House," Wilson began.

House ignored him. "This picture," he said, holding up the camera to
illustrate, "should fill it up."

Wilson just started at him, trying to read between the lines and get to
House's real message, an activity at which he usually excelled. The older
doctor smiled at him mockingly. 

"You'll need a new one," Wilson hedged, trying to buy himself some time.

"Yes, you'll have to buy me something cool - maybe one of those digital
frames that shuffle between the photos." 

"People will think I'm a really good prostitute when they see that."

House's answering grin was like lightening, flashing across his face and
gone in less time than it took to process the expression. "I don't mind
them knowing if you don't. As long as they don't want to share."

"You've never shared me," Wilson kidded.

House looked down at the floor. The album Wilson had dropped was opened to
the last page, with the picture from his second wedding. Wilson studied
the photo with new eyes, noting the lightness and happiness radiating from
the two of them, directed at each other. 

"Nonsense," House told him. "I share you all the time." He looked up, a
challenge in his eyes as crystal blue met soft brown. "But I think I'm
done with that."

"I don't understand," Wilson admitted.

"Come on, boy genius. You already figured it out. Don't play dumb now, you
know how I hate that," House admonished.

Wilson spoke his thought process out loud. "You deliberately sent me to
the closet to find these. You're trying to tell me something."

House grunted. Maybe it was agreement, maybe it was `you're an idiot,
Wilson' or maybe he just felt the need to contribute to the conversation.
.

"You kept these pictures because you care about me, because I'm important
to you." Wilson studied the top of House's head as House took a sudden
interest in the floor. "And because you love me," Wilson stated it as a
fact, unable and unwilling to keep the hope from his voice. 

House looked up, and even his mockery couldn't hide the relief on his
face. "Wilson, you big girl! Can't some things just go unsaid?"

Wilson considered that for a moment before crossing his arms resolutely.
"No, I think some things need to be said. At least once." And he looked at
House expectantly.

"You mean right now?" House's look was incredulous, but his tone suggested
anxiety.

"I'll make it worth your while," Wilson promised.

House went from nervous to intrigued in the blink of an eye. "How?"

"I'll help you replace the photo in your fun drawer."

House studied his face to be sure he was serious, stepped into Wilson's
personal space and whispered huskily, "I love you."

Wilson had to buy a box with a lock for the photos they took that night.

  
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the
ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House
(and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property
of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I
am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive
no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement
nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the
show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.